Mina, Uhmma said, you did not even take off your jeans. How can you tell if it looks good if it is bunched at your jeans?
“I don’t like it,” I said and rushed to pull it off.
Uhmma stopped my hand. She said, Take off your jeans and let us look to see how it really fits.
I made a small grunt but sometimes it’s just easier to do what Uhmma wants. I stepped out of my jeans and looked in the mirror.
Uhmma smoothed the skirt. There, she said. That looks nice. Maybe you could wear that for graduation. Uhmma smiled up at me. She shook her head. You have become a young lady. Aigoo, Mina, your uhmma is getting old.
Uhmma’s eyes softened around the edges. She spoke in a whisper, If only Harvard were not so far away. Maybe Stanford would be a better choice. Aii, but Harvard is the best. I do not believe what Mrs. Kim says. Harvard will always be more respectable than Stanford.
“Stop, Uhmma,” I said, reaching down to pull the dress off.
What, Uhmma said. I am only saying what is true. You have worked so hard. I could not be more proud of you, Mina-ya. What is wrong with that?
I struggled out of the dress and handed it back to her. I reached over to my chosen pile of clothes and picked up some new jeans and a blue shirt. I didn’t answer her.
With my new clothes, including the ugly green dress, folded into neat square piles inside my shopping bag, we walked toward the children’s section. Uhmma started scanning the racks. I went to find Suna.
I found her in one of the dressing rooms. She sat in her underwear and training bra, clutching a dress to her chest. Her body was still so young, without any hints of change. Suna held out the dress. It was a grown-up sort of dress made of a silky material with thin straps and a short skirt, not the kind that was usually hanging up in the children’s section. It was a dress that one of the girls sitting on the front steps of the library would have worn. It was a dress for teenagers.
“Do you think Uhmma will let me have it?” she asked.
I knew what Uhmma would think. But Suna’s face, so wide and open with hope, would not let me answer any other way. “Yes,” I said. “I’ll talk to her.”
As I was stepping out of the dressing room, I asked, “When did you start wearing the bra?”
Suna smiled. “A long time ago. You’ve been too busy to notice.”
I smiled back and left with the dress in my hands.
Uhmma refused. She had a few T-shirts and jeans picked out. I held out the dress again.
She only wants this, I insisted.
That is too old for her, Uhmma argued. She does not need to wear those kinds of clothes.
What is wrong with it? This is what the other teenagers her age are wearing.
Uhmma snapped, She is not like the other girls.
But she is, Uhmma, I pleaded. She could be just like them. Her hearing aid does not make her . . .
I struggled to find the right Korean word for it and couldn’t. I switched to English. “She’s not some kind of freak.”
Uhmma ignored me and walked toward the cash register to pay for the clothes. I stood in my place. I couldn’t believe Uhmma would not let Suna have one dress. The one thing she wanted. We had been living and acting the way Uhmma wanted us to for all our lives. Doing anything to uphold appearances. When did we get to choose what we wanted?
I walked after Uhmma. When are you going to stop making Suna pay for your mistakes? I asked.
Uhmma stopped walking. She wouldn’t look at me, just stated simply, Stop it, Mina.
No, you stop, Uhmma. Suna is as much your daughter as I am.
I never said that she was not my daughter, Uhmma said angrily.
No, I said. You just act like it.
Uhmma stepped back, her eyes squinted in anger and pain. Why are you saying all this? she said. Why are you acting like this?
I stepped forward with the dress. I held it out to her and said, She needs you, Uhmma. She needs you to show that you love her, too.
Uhmma sighed. Suna stepped out of the dressing room area and walked toward us, her smile wide with hope. I studied Uhmma’s face. And though I couldn’t see it, I sensed something, like blue skies waiting behind the fog. Uhmma finally took the dress from my hands.
On our way out, Uhmma stopped to touch a red silk jacket on a mannequin. She held the sleeve for a moment and then let go.
That would look good on you, I suggested. The tingling guilt of watching Uhmma count out all her twenties at the register softened my tone with Uhmma.
Uhmma shook her head. She said, I am too old to be wearing such a bold color. The fabric is nice, though.
Do you want to check and see if they have other colors? You could go and try it on, I urged.
Uhmma shook her head again. Maybe another time, she said. We are done for today.
We walked out of the store, the faint classical music fading into the background. The weight of the shopping bag cut into my wrists.
suna
SHE LETS THE SILKY material slide over her head. The thin straps fall against her collarbone, the short skirt brushing
